Working Girl Read Online Free Page A

to end up seeking sexual favors . . . usually paired with a twenty-dollar bill. We both dealt with the relentless teasing in our own way. Chrissy turned into a man-eater, and I totally withdrew.
    I glance down at my cell phone and decide it’s time for me to start making my way across campus for my next class. Besides, I’m not particularly in the mood to continue getting looks and listen to snickering from the shit head twins. Even though it has been a few years, and despite my hopes that college would be different, apparently my past will keep following me around. Or maybe they’re just jealous. Who knows? I guess in the grand scheme of life it doesn’t really matter.
    I’d managed to complete the assigned reading for Borefest 101 . . . aka Bookkeeping. Having had enough of the bullshit, I throw my books into my bag and quickly start walking through the stacks, not really paying attention to where I’m going, when I run smack dab into something hard.
    Stumbling backward, I feel hands on my shoulders, holding me steady. “Shit,” I mumble. “Sorry.” Looking up I meet those unmistakable brown eyes that are burned into my memory. How? I’m still not entirely sure, because I thought I had my walls up pretty high.
    He’s already smiling, and I fight the urge to reach up and run the pads of my fingers along the contours of his adorable dimples. “In a rush?” he laughs.
    At the sound of his laughter paired with the deep gruffness of his voice, I feel my stomach flip over itself. It’s ridiculous, and I hate myself a little bit for it. “My next class is all the way across campus,” I reply quickly.
    He looks puzzled for a moment, and I know he’s trying to place me. The thought has me feeling slightly deflated, because I already knew exactly who he was. “Hey, you’re in my Bookkeeping 101 class, aren’t you?”
    “Yeah, hey, I’m coffee girl.”
    “Coffee girl,” he snorts. “You’re funny. But do you have a real name?”
    “Presley, and yes, before you ask, I am named after that famous Presley.” I bite my lip, hoping that he drops it there. Being named after Elvis isn’t exactly something that I like to discuss because it opens the door to discussing my mom, and that’s kind of a sore subject for me.
    He sticks his hand out in front of me. “Elvis . . .”
    Placing my hand in his, I give him a sideways look. “Yeah . . .” I lead, more than slightly confused.
    “No, that’s my name,” he corrects.
    “No shit!” I squeal, excited at the idea that our parents were obviously smoking the same brand of weed when we were born.
    He grins devilishly, and I instantly know he’s full of shit. “No, it’s not.” He laughs. “I was just kidding. But the look on your face was priceless.”
    Slightly pissed, I pull my hand away. His hands retreat to his pockets before he speaks again. “My name’s Emerson. My mom has a thing for poets.”
    “I didn’t ask for your life story.”
    “Well, you gave me yours.”
    I blow out through my nose. “Hardly.” He did have a point. I’d told him more than I needed to about my name. Who cares that I was named after Elvis. But it had been like diarrhea of the mouth, and I wanted to take it back.
    He shakes his head, and I impatiently tap my toes. “What dorm are you in?” he asks, attempting to make small talk.
    Not used to actually having to interact with other people, especially the opposite sex, I nervously tuck my hair behind my ear. “I . . . um . . . actually, I live off campus.”
    “Oh yeah.” It’s clear he’s feigning interest. “Whereabouts?”
    My heart thunders in my chest. A sore topic for me, I never get used to answering it. “Ah, just downtown.”
    It was the truth; I just left out the exact location. No one needs to know that I live in the slums.
    “We should get together sometime and study.”
    Puzzled, I look at him. He can’t be serious. “You don’t even know me.”
    “It’s just studying.” He smiles and I fight